


Weiß Kreuz drabbles from WK 100

by Doitsujin (Unseelie)



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Prompt Fic, Wordcount: 100
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-06-25
Updated: 2007-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unseelie/pseuds/Doitsujin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various 100 word shorts, Schwarz focused</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He loathes me, he loathes me not...

Scarlet marks appear on Aya's cheek; his lashes flutter, brow furrows. Three vivid blots, four, five, are not enough to rouse him from unconsciousness, which is not Schuldig's goal. The swordsman is more fun this way. With a put-upon sigh the telepath pauses his dismemberment of rose and psyche, twirling the limp stem between long fingers.

"Ja, Crawfort. ..." 

Blue eyes roll toward the warehouse skylight and he rises, reluctantly obedient as petals drift down to tickle Aya's throat. 

"Ähmmmm. ... Nein, Crawfort." 

Scaffolding creaks as Schuldig departs, the denuded rose stem falling to dusty concrete in his wake.


	2. Like spitting in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing

Schuldig spits from the high shelter of the covered balcony and watches the storm drench the street below. It makes him ache, makes him angry, makes work and play a royal pain in the ass.

"Are umbrellas designed to dump water in the fucking car? Perfectly designed to aim it right in your fucking face as you're getting up, or lap as you're getting in?" 

Crawford pushes his glasses up with one finger, eyes remaining focused on the computer screen. "Perhaps someone is trying to tell you something." 

Schuldig sneers, "Right," eyes roll and arms cross, "What, learn to swim?"


	3. The capsules, they do nothing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schuldig vs Rosenkreuz

On rainy days he sneaks the medicines he’s pretended to ingest out of his tattered mattress and strolls through the exercise yard, fingers ejecting them one by one through the hole inside his pocket.

The pills are supposed to make him “feel better.” 

Schuldig figures he feels pretty good already, and if he felt any better he might just explode with joy or something equally dangerous. It’s better for everyone if he deals with the mysterious pills in this way. 

Unless someday they’re attacked by giant mutant worms or weeds or something-- which still might make him feel pretty good.


	4. It's his favorite time of night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 2 a.m.

It's his favorite time of night. Deep REM sleep starts taking over when his telepath's exhausted shields have just about reached their limit. Wherever he is Schuldig gets a bit of relief. Sometimes it's apparent in a gradual easing of his sleep-scowl, the sensation of clarity on the job, or a slow building enthusiasm that moves him from the bar to the dance floor. Tonight Schuldig falls asleep on the sofa, long legs sprawled within reach of Farfarello, who shows remarkable restraint in merely poking a toe to watch the twitch reaction. It's definitely Crawford's favorite time of night.


	5. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: promises

Schuldig hates lies. Promises he dislikes, because those tend to share breath with lies. Promises are viewed with active skepticism and like most things he dislikes, they result in immediate violence.

Crawford is therefore to be viewed as a very lucky man; Schuldig is in too much pain to rise and swing a fist and hasn't been in possession of his gun since Takatori threw it at his head. 

Schuldig must content himself with scowling, and growling his own vow of future violence when Crawford says the horribly demeaning and offensive words: "I promise, he won't get away with this."


	6. It's unlucky to harm a cat...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: superstition

It's cold on the roof, and Schuldig, laying on his belly and propped up on his elbows, sighs behind his field glasses and fogs them up.

Farfarello laughs at him and sights down the barrel of a pistol at the flowershop window. When Schuldig glances at him, he sees in the irishman's mind, as though reflected in one golden eye, tempting targets moving about. First the small one arranging the display; oh, lucky boy, called back behind the counter. Now the tall lazy one, pushing back his hair and yawning. 

"Nein," Schuldig tisks. "Unglück es gibt, eine Katze zu schädigen."


End file.
